


asking for a dream or two

by mearcats



Series: i wished on the moon for you [1]
Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Intimacy, F/M, First Meetings, Hopeful Ending, that one time in Sao Paolo, until a badass future babe shows up, when Flynn is all hopeless and despondent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-09
Updated: 2018-06-09
Packaged: 2019-05-20 00:05:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14883843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mearcats/pseuds/mearcats
Summary: It's been two weeks since his wife and daughter were murdered, and Flynn is wallowing in a grimy bar on the other side of the world. Then he meets Lucy Preston, setting off a chain of events that change the world.





	asking for a dream or two

**Author's Note:**

> My first Garcy fic! Yay! 
> 
> Flynn is in a rough spot at the beginning, so his outlook is correspondlingly bleak. But it gets better.

He sits at the bar, staring down into the amber whiskey in his glass. The counter is dirty, a fitting centerpiece for the grimy hole-in-the wall in Baixo Augusta.

 

It is, he thinks, the perfect place for an ending.

 

Two weeks.

 

Two weeks is all it takes for his life to become...this.

 

He downs his drink and gestures for the bartender to pour him another. He tries not to think about how the whiskey is the same color as Lorena’s hair, how angry she’d be that he was here, wallowing.

 

But he can’t think about that, can definitely not think about Iris, his precious girl…

 

He bites the side of his cheek, willing himself not to show his distress to any of the strangers around him.

 

Rittenhouse has won. They’ve killed his wife and daughter, and Garcia knows he’s a marked man. He has nothing left. Not even a drop left in his glass.

 

He’ll have another, and maybe another. He’s failed the people he loves most, let alone the rest of the world. If he can’t make a difference, what good can he be against a power like Rittenhouse?

 

Wordlessly, the bartender pours him another.

 

Garcia fiddles with his wedding ring. He’s sure of his course, that this night will be his last, but he needs a few more hours. He needs more time to remember Lorena and Iris, their exhilarating laughter. To remember his mother, her kind heart and infrequent but beaming smiles. Who will honor their memory when he’s gone?

 

He doesn’t have an answer; he just knows he sure as hell hasn’t been doing a great job of it the last couple of weeks.

 

But he’s not in a hurry. After all, if he doesn’t manage it tonight, there’s always tomorrow. Or Rittenhouse can find him, as they undoubtedly will eventually.

 

The door to the bar opens and out of the corner of his eye he sees a woman take the stool next to his.

 

He sniffs in distaste; there are plenty of other seats, and the place isn’t packed by any stretch of the imagination.

Garcia lifts his glass to his lips for another sip, intent on ignoring the stranger next to him.

 

She’s not Brazilian, that much is clear from her accent. It’s passable, though, and gets her the whiskey she wants.

 

“Garcia Flynn,” she says.

 

He stiffens, turning his head to look at her.

 

She’s pretty. Gorgeous, even, if very different from his type. Tiny, slender, though he can tell she’s strong. Dark hair and eyes, a stubborn chin, and sensible but attractive haircut. She’s probably his age or near enough, and she sounds American.

 

God, she’s either NSA or Rittenhouse, and neither bodes well for him.

 

She reaches inside her jacket. Expecting a gun, he’s flummoxed and nonplussed when she sets a small, worn leather-bound book on the surface in front of them. It looks like a journal, and his suspicion seems confirmed by the “LP” in the bottom corner.

 

He quirks an eyebrow and takes a fortifying sip of his drink. “So, ‘LP’, what can I do for you?”

 

“It’s Lucy. Lucy Preston.”

 

“My question stands, Lucy,” he says. He can’t help but notice how her breath hitches when he says her name, how her hand flutters to her chest. He frowns.

 

She smiles at him, a small and melancholy thing. “Read the journal, Garcia. It has everything you need to fight Rittenhouse and save your family.”

 

His stomach drops. “What do you know about Rittenhouse? About my family?” he bites out.

 

“I know more than you can imagine about your family. And about you,” she says, her voice confident and even a little cocky.

 

“Then you know that if I find out you’re from Rittenhouse, I will end you.”

 

“I know, and I know how hard it is to trust. But you’ll have to trust me, if you want any help taking down Rittenhouse. They took my family, too, Flynn. I’d do anything to get them back, and you’re the best shot at doing that.”

 

He can’t see a lie in her face or hear it in her words. All the same, he’s not ready to take this on faith yet. He picks up the journal and rifles through it. It takes him just a few minutes before he turns to her again.

 

“Time travel? What kind of shit is this, Lucy?”

 

To his consternation, she bites her lip, seeming to hold back a smile. “It’s the truth. You know as well as I do what Connor Mason is working on. You _know_.”

 

His throat closes, and he swallows. “But—how—it works?”

 

“It works.”

 

“Then you’re trying to tell me that this is—that you’re—from the future?” He’s incredulous, but she’s not wrong. Mason Industries is working on tech that would make all of this possible. It’s a couple years off, but closer than he’d like. And Rittenhouse is already all over it.

 

Lucy doesn’t flinch or look away from him. “Yes.”

 

He polishes off his drink and she does the same to hers. He’s standing up to leave, journal in hand, when he sees her throw down enough bills to cover their tabs, and follow him. He’s not bothered, and he shortens his stride a little to let her catch up.

 

It’s just a lot to think about, and he’d rather have this conversation somewhere more private.

 

“So, if what you’re telling me is true, you and I know each other in the future.”

 

That melancholy little smile reappears. “Quite well, in fact, Garcia.”

 

He’s not ready to try to figure out what that means, not yet. Not with the weight of his wedding ring still on his finger, not with the guilt and pain of Lorena’s and Iris’ murder.

 

Thankfully, she seems to understand that. She places one of her hands on his forearm and says, “I just—well, we’ll be quite the team someday.”

 

He doesn’t pull away from her, even as her touch burns through the light cotton of his shirt. “Even if I believe you, that’s a lot to take on, Lucy.”

 

She nods and tucks her arm through his, and they continue walking. “I know. But you _can_ do it. And you won’t be alone, not for long.”

 

They make their way to his hotel in silence. He opens the door to his room, and gestures for her to come in. She hesitates for a split second before walking in, and he’s just a step behind her.

 

She takes in the shabby furniture and tatty bedspread and sighs. “You need to get out of here, Flynn. This isn’t good for you, being in this place.”

 

“And where would you suggest I go? To the Emiliano? Besides, I’ve been in far worse places,” he retorts. He sits on the bed.

 

Lucy sighs again and sits next to him. “I know. You told me about Serbia. And you’ll be in other rat traps, just--if you don’t have to, don’t torture yourself, okay?”

 

Garcia isn’t sure how to respond, and truth be told, he’s a little gobsmacked. No one knows about that time in Serbia, other than the other operatives on the mission, and only one other man made it out. He mentioned it to Lorena, but never went into any detail. And it certainly didn’t make it into reports, so if Lucy knows, then he _must_ have told her. Or will tell her. His head is spinning from more than just the alcohol he’s consumed.

 

“Hey, it’ll be okay,” Lucy says in a low, soothing tone. She rests her hand on his thigh.

 

He jumps at the familiarity of the contact. It feels more pleasant and normal than it should, and his body begins to respond to the first contact he’s had since Lorena and Iris died. He settles back down, even as his cheeks burn.

 

She seems to know he’s embarrassed, but she doesn’t tease him. She squeezes lightly before removing her hand from his thigh.

 

“You can do it, Flynn. Find somewhere to live, find Anthony, and use the journal to find me when it’s time.”

 

“I-I take down Rittenhouse?” She’s standing, and he reaches for her hand. He needs _something,_ some kind of reassurance that this is possible, that this won’t just be some fever dream he wakes from tomorrow.

 

She takes his hand in both of hers and brings it to her lips. “Yes, my—Garcia.” Lucy pulls her hands away, but stops to caress his face.

 

He lets her slip go without remark. “Will I see you again? _This_ you?”

 

Her smile is bittersweet, as she rakes her eyes over him from head to toe, seemingly trying to take him all in. “I can’t say.”

 

“But can you stay a little longer? Tell me what’s next?” He pleads with her. She says he can do all these things, but this future sounds _lonely_ until he gets to the beginning of this journal in nearly two years.

 

“You’ll have the journal. I-I can’t stay. I need to get back,” she whispers.

 

He nods, and stares at her as she walks to the door. She turns back to smile at him one last time before she goes through and closes it.

 

His mind whirls from everything he’s learned, and he clutches the journal to his chest. He needs to sleep, needs to plan…

 

He sets the journal on the rickety bedside table, and gets into bed. Planning can wait until tomorrow. For now, he’ll rest, and he’s fairly certain his dreams won’t be haunted by the recent past for once. Instead, the future beckons.

 

&&&

 

He dreams of dark hair and eyes, and a woman at his side in a too-small bed. It’s the first time he sleeps through the night in two weeks.

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this, hit me up with a comment or find me on tumblr under the same name!


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